


Benefits of Being a Klutz

by ladylillianrose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, General clumsiness, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylillianrose/pseuds/ladylillianrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly accidentally hurt herself and is stuck on crutches, when Sherlock decides to find out how and lend a hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benefits of Being a Klutz

**Author's Note:**

> So this was sort of inspired by my own injury and the subsequent conversations with my husband. However I thankfully didn't break my toes nor do I need crutches, but it does hurt like hell! So while icing my own injury this idea came to me!

*clink, clink, thunk*

Sherlock Holmes looked up from his microscope at the strange noise. The doors to the morgue opened and revealed Molly Hooper....on a pair of crutches.

He quirked his eyebrow as she determinedly struggled through, bag slung across her chest.

She paused, breathing heavily, 'whoever invented crutches certainly didn't take breasts into accountability!' she thought to herself.

Looking up she saw Sherlock looking at her with a half confused half amused expression on his face. She let out of huff of exasperation, not even an offer to assist her, not that she'd have accepted it, she was perfectly capable of managing on her own.

Ignoring him she managed to make it to her office and collapsed in her chair. She didn't want to move, but she had work to do.

She put her glasses on, propped her left leg up on the other chair and set to work on the stack of paperwork that seemed to grow overnight.

*ahem* She looked up to see Sherlock leaning against the door frame to her office looking at her, waiting for an explanation.

“Hmm?” she mumbled, turning back to her paperwork, thoughtfully chewing on her pen.

“I'm waiting for an explanation Molly,” he said crossing his arms and smirking.

“For what?' she refused to look at him.

He sighed, “You obviously hurt yourself, or are feeling particularly masochistic towards your upper body.”

“Yes, I hurt my foot. I don't want to talk about it,” she continued to ignore him.

“And exactly how did you do that?”

“You're the detective, why don't you figure it out?” she snapped glaring at him.

He smiled, she obviously had hurt herself in some embarrassing manner and didn't want him to find out.

“Let's see,” he began.

She groaned, giving up all pretense of working and prepared herself for the onslaught of deductions.

“You're wearing a skirt and sandals, which means that whatever you did is painful enough that you can't wear regular shoes or put your foot through a pant leg.”

She nodded, motioning for him to continue, she knew there was no escape, might as well go along with it.

“It's your left foot, so that narrows down the possible injuries. You're crutches are incredibly painful to use, seeing as you've wrapped the tops with towels, but that doesn't keep them from digging into your breasts.”

She rolled her eyes, of course the only time he bothered to look at her breasts was to comment on the size or that they were in pain, 

“You don't want assistance from anyone, which is why you insisted on struggling through the lab on your own, which implies that it was your own fault and are embarrassed by it.”

He moved around the desk and inspected her foot. Her toes were taped together and appeared to be a dark purple.

“So what have you concluded?” she asked, leaning back in her chair, mouth in a thin line.

“You were attacked by some inanimate object in your apartment and have subsequently broken 2...no 3 of your toes.” He leaned against the desk, a challenging look on his face, daring her to correct him.

She sighed, “3 broken toes, as the result of my own clumsiness....as I was going to bed I ran my foot into the door frame.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Really Molly, it's not as if the door frame has moved, it's where it has always been.”

She groaned, “Yes Sherlock, I am _**painfully**_ aware of that! I'm just that fucking talented!” She lay her head down on her desk embarrassed by her own clumsiness.

He chuckled, she must be in pain if she was swearing.

“Go away,” she muttered not picking her head up.

He smiled, and left her to her paperwork, returning to his experiments, having solved the mystery of his limping pathologist.

Molly managed to finish the paperwork just before lunch. She sighed, wishing she had thought to pack herself something to eat, as getting to the canteen was going to be a struggle. She took some Ibuprofen and picked up her crutches to begin the long hobble to lunch.

She peered out, good it looked like Sherlock had left. She may not want help but she didn't want him watching her struggle across the lab.

She made it halfway before the doors opened and in walked Sherlock, a bag in his hands.

“Oh good, you haven't made it out yet.”

She rolled her eyes, wondering what new experiment he had in the bag. He gestured for her to sit on the stool next to the one in front of his microscope.

She sat, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach, she really didn't have the energy to make it all the way there and back.

He sat next to her and opened the bag. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. It wasn't an experiment, he'd gone and gotten lunch.

He pulled out two sandwiches and a bag of crisps. He set one of them in front of her. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to form words.

“You brought me lunch?” she managed to get out.

“Correction, I brought us lunch. You didn't honestly think I'd let you limp pathetically all the way to the canteen and back did you?” He smiled at her, a real smile, not his usual 'Molly, I need a favor' one.

She blushed, and quietly thanked him, before tucking into her sandwich. In between bites they discussed his latest experiments and cases. He had just finished up a particularly easy case involving a cheating spouse pawning his wife's jewelry off on his mistress as gifts.

“Honestly it wasn't even worth leaving the flat,” he rolled his eyes.

“Did you make John take the laptop again?” she chuckled.

He scoffed, “Of course I did, I don't leave for anything less than a 7, this was barely a 4.”

She smiled, momentarily forgetting the pain in her foot, she was enjoying herself.

After lunch, she hobbled over to the autopsy tables, thankfully she only had one to do. She could balance herself on her crutches and still do her job, as long as she didn't put any weight on her left foot she'd be fine.

She set to work on the body of Mr. Emilio Von Brandt, died of a heart attack but his family had ordered an autopsy just for clarification.

She managed to make it through the whole procedure without any problems balancing, but as she moved to close him up, she shifted slightly and accidentally put all her weight on her foot. She hissed in pain, quickly lifting her foot and clinging to her crutches.

She felt him next to her, “Right, that's it, I'm taking you home so you can stay out of trouble and heal properly.”

She protested, “I'm fine I just stepped funny. Besides I need to finish this, then I'll go home.”

“Fine,” he moved behind her, using his hands to keep her crutches in place while she stitched Mr. Von Brandt up.

Her heart was racing, he was so close to her, it felt oddly intimate despite the situation. She took a calming breath, willing her hands to stop shaking. She quickly stitched him up, and turned to Sherlock and smiled. His body was practically pressed up against hers, she flushed.

“I just need to put him back, and then we can go.” He nodded, moving to help her put him away.

“Stay here,” he said and went to her office to grab her bag and his coat. He slung her bag over his shoulder and held the door open for her.

She slowly made her way through the door, while he patiently waited. They walked in silence down the hallway, except for the clicking of her crutches on the floor.

There was a cab waiting for them when they got outside, he opened the door and held her crutches while she slipped inside.

He got in and gave her address, before lifting her foot and placing it on his lap.

She became flustered and attempted to move her foot.

“Molly, it needs to be elevated, preferably with ice on it, but this will do for now.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. They rode in silence, Molly desperately trying to keep her stomach from fluttering.

He peered at her out of the corner of his eye, interesting, their close proximity seemed to be affecting her. He absentmindedly stroked the top of her foot, lost in thought.

Molly barely managed to keep from squeaking in surprise, he was stroking her foot! He didn't seem to be aware that he was doing so, but it felt incredibly sensual, his long elegant fingers softly stroking her foot.

She bit back a groan, praying that they were close to her flat, she didn't know how much more she could take.

They pulled up to her flat, Sherlock helped her out and paid the cabbie. Thankfully Molly lived on the bottom floor, she could not have managed stairs in her condition.

She unlocked her door and just managed to make it to her sofa before collapsing with a sigh.

Sherlock smiled, hanging up her bag and his coat. She raised her eyebrows at him, she had expected him to drop her off and leave.

Her cat Toby jumped onto her chest purring contentedly, glad that she was home, She smiled and scratched him under his chin while settled down for a nap.

Sherlock made his way into her kitchen and pulled out an ice pack and towel, before heading back to the sofa.

He positioned some pillows and placed her foot along with the ice pack on top of them.

She hissed at the coldness of the ice, he smirked as she tried to get her foot in a comfortable position without it being too cold.

“Thank you,” she said, finally settled comfortably on the couch.

He nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

“Why are you taking care of me?” she questioned, biting her lip.

He scoffed, “Because obviously left to your own devices you'd just hurt yourself more. I've half a mind to wrap you in packing material to protect you from yourself,” he grinned teasingly.

“Now just where is this villainous door frame?” he said standing up and heading towards her bedroom.

She groaned, great now he was mocking her. “Just leave it Sherlock. I'll try to not inflict my own clumsiness on it in the future.”

“I don't know Molly, I'm not sure I trust you alone with such a fiend.”

She rolled her eyes, “Oh sure, my knight in shining armor, defender of the fair maiden from the notorious woodwork!” she snorted. “Well there's no other solution, you'll just have to live here and protect me for the rest of my days,” she said sarcastically.

“I'd be remiss in my duty if I left you unguarded. T'would be my honor to protect you,” he bowed mockingly and returned to the sofa.

Molly's head was spinning, did she just tell Sherlock to move in with her? Maybe the pain was causing hallucinations.

“Sherlock?” she said tentatively, studying his face for a reaction.

He smiled, “Though I suppose if I'm to stay here we should come to some sort of arrangement.”

Okay now she knew she was imagining things, there was no way this was actually happening.

“Ummm, am I hallucinating?” she said worriedly.

He chuckled, “I don't believe broken toes cause hallucinations.” He his face close to her's, looking into her eyes, “No signs of a head injury, though your pupils are slightly dilated.”

Her breath hitched at how close he was to her, her heart beat rapidly, her body urging her to close the gap between them.

Realizing how close they were his eyes drifted to her lips, they were slightly reddened from where she had been nervously biting them. His eyes darkened, “Molly, I'm going to kiss you now,” he murmured softly.

She gasped as he closed the gap between them and felt his lips on her's. It wasn't a soft kiss, it was full of desire and yearning. She wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with his curls as his tongue sought out her's. She moaned as he bit her lower lip, leaning her head back to give him access to her neck.

She shuddered as he bit hard, marking her. She pulled him back up, taking his earlobe in her mouth and nibbling on it. He groaned in pleasure, as she grinned in spite of herself. She made her way down his delicious neck that had tormented her daily, kissing and nipping at it, relishing in the fact that she was making him lose control.

She moved to unbutton his shirt but his hands stopped her. She looked up questioningly.

His voice was ragged, “As much as I am enjoying this, I don't think we should progress further tonight.”

Molly pulled her hand back as if scalded, wondering what had gone wrong. He grabbed her hand, kissing her palm.

“It's not that I don't want to, believe me I do,” he grinned at her. “But you said so yourself that you're incredibly clumsy. And I certainly don't want to ruin the mood by aggravating your injury or injuring you further.”

She bit back a groan of frustration, she didn't care about her foot, in fact she'd completely forgotten the pain until he mentioned it. Her mind had been much more pleasantly engaged.

She sighed, “Fine....but I want a rain check!”

He smiled and kissed her softly on the lips, “As soon as you're healed, I promise. But now you need to rest.”

He escorted her to her bedroom and settled her in bed, making sure to elevate her foot. He kissed her goodnight and turned to leave.

“Please stay,” she said, patting the space next to her.

He smiled and shook his head, “No you need to rest your foot, and the temptation would be far to great.”

She schooled her face into one of complete innocence, “Why Mr. Holmes, I don't know what you're suggesting. I was merely looking out for your comfort.”

He rolled his eyes, not buying her act for a second, “Goodnight Molly. I'll be on the couch if you need me.”

She pouted as he closed the door, and then her face split into a huge grin! If this was a dream she didn't want to wake up, she'd just been thoroughly snogged with the promise of more by the one man she truly loved.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face, dreaming about the man on her sofa.

She awoke the next day and hobbled out to the living room, it was empty. She frowned, maybe she had been dreaming. But the she saw out of the corner of her eye the familiar Belstaff hanging on one of the coat hooks.

The front door opened and in walked Sherlock, with a few bags in his arms.

She breathed a sigh of relief, it wasn't a dream. She smiled at him and softly said , “Good morning.”

He glanced at her and smiled, “Did you think I'd run out on you?” She shrugged, not wanting to admit her foolishness.

“I went to grab us breakfast,” he said holding up one of the bags.

“What's in the other bag?” she nodded at an odd shaped parcel sticking out from the top.

“Never you mind, nosy Molly. Here take your breakfast while it's still hot,” he handed her the bag full of warm scones.

She smiled as the delicious scent wafted through the room. He took the other bag and headed towards her bedroom, while she sat on the sofa and nibbled.

She heard some banging coming from just outside her bedroom and looked up startled.

“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?” she limped towards the noise, worried about what mischief he'd gotten up to.

When she got there, she noticed he's put some padding around the edges of her door frame, at about foot height.

He smiled at her, “Can't have it attack you again can I?”

Her jaw dropped at the sweetness of the gesture. Who knew he had such a soft side?

He stood up, putting the hammer back in the bag, and wrapping his arm around her waist.

She kissed him softly on the cheek and hummed in appreciation. “You incredibly sweet man.”

His face wrinkled in disgust at being called sweet. She giggled, “Don't you deny it now.”

He sighed and pecked her on top of her head, “Just don't let it get around.”

“Never,” she said snuggling into his side appreciatively.

He moved to steer them back towards the living room, but Molly still slightly off balance from her foot, turned too sharply and banged her elbow against the wall.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and clucked his tongue. Molly grimaced embarrassed muttering to herself, “Thank goodness my name isn't Grace.”

Sherlock laughed loudly, sweeping her into his arms and taking them both to the sofa.

“My clumsy pathologist, just what am I to do with you?” he shook his head, holding her close.

“I have a few ideas....”


End file.
